Common Threads
by Rachel Lynn
Summary: One angry and rebellious teenage hero, one reluctant werewolf guardian, and a ghost. Eventual RLSB slash.
1. Anger management

This was written sometime back in the spring. I've been meaning to put it up on FFN for a while, because I have a tendency to lose things on livejournal. I'm also hoping that posting it will inspire me a bit.

Standard disclaimer: HP is not mine.

Semi-standard disclaimer: Don't expect too much. You'll be disappointed.

aaaaaa

::_Remus? Why are you being such a pig headed idiot about this?_::  
  
"Shut up. You're not real."  
  
::_Yes, I am._::  
  
"No, you're not. You are just a product of my stress induced imagination."  
  
::_Were you this difficult when we were kids?_::  
  
"I'm not having this conversation."  
  
::_And yet, we're still talking._::  
  
"Go away. Please."  
  
::_You're always so polite when you're trying to manipulate people. You know, I don't know that I ever saw that before._::  
  
"Maybe that's because you were only ever interested in seeing what you wanted to see. God, you were so fucking blind sometimes. Even up until the end, you couldn't see what was going on right in front of your face until it was too late. And like always, you just rushed right in. Heaven forbid you talk it out with someone else first or plan."  
  
::_So you're mad at me?_::  
  
"How can I be mad at you? You're just a repressed part of my subconscious that's acting up."  
  
::_Well, granted, you'd be the one to know the most about repression, but do you think you could remove the stick from your ass long enough to hear me out?_::   
  
"Fuck off."  
  
::_Remus, I'm asking you. Begging you. I can't leave things like this, and you know that you can't either. You have to do something about Harry._::  
  
"No. You know what? I don't have to do anything. It's not my responsibility or my obligation. It was yours."  
  
::_I know that._::  
  
"So quit fucking asking me to pick up your slack, Sirius."  
  
aaaaaa  
  
There was a warm spot next to him on the mattress that smelled a bit like wet dog, but it was hard anymore to know if that were just his imagination at work, reality, or just another mind game played by those who saw him as their own little personal toy. In all honesty, Harry wasn't sure he much cared. They could take their power plays, their little intrigues, and their manipulations and they could go fuck themselves.  
  
He'd written letters rather faithfully to his friends and to members of the order for the first two weeks. They'd been poisonous little notes with filthy words and filled with anger. And after he'd bled that little bit out, they'd returned with letters of their own, filled with sympathy and confusion and affronted sensibilities. Then he'd written them all one last note to say that there wouldn't be anymore notes for the rest of the summer. He wasn't interested in talking to them, and he was fairly sure now that they weren't interested in hearing from him.  
  
He'd lived in this house for ten whole years without them babysitting him. He'd spent portions of the first four summers here without a peep from anyone but Ron, Hermione and Sirius. And last year there had been no meaningful communication at all. Just inane little small talk to appease a supposed savior with a bad temper. He wasn't going to spend the summer waiting with pathetic hopefulness for letters that may or may not come.  
  
He pulled the threadbare blanket up tighter against him, inhaling deeply and relaxing, just a little, at the overly ripe smell of dog. He didn't know how it had gotten there. Best guess was that this was just some old blanket Aunt Petunia had pulled out of a garbage bin. It might even have been a reject of Aunt Marge's. But even that didn't seem to matter. It smelled, and it smelled like Padfoot.  
  
The blanket he'd used at Grimmauld Place had smelled the same. And some mornings, he'd woken up with the same familiar warm spot beside left by a godfather who never said much, was never big on the physical or verbal displays of affection, but who had occasionally calmed a nightmare or wordlessly reaffirmed that Harry was not so achingly alone as he imagined.  
  
And here in the pitch black mustiness of the closet beneath the stairs, it was all too easy to pretend that he was back at the hated house, sleeping off and on in between those most peaceful moments he'd ever remembered having in his life. Aunt Petunia was furious with him, he'd given Dudley two black eyes, and Uncle Vernon had about gone into epileptic shock when Harry had told him he could take the chores and go fuck himself. Being banished to the closet wasn't a punishment. Not anymore. And since all he wanted to do anyway was sleep, it was a blessing in disguise.  
  
Which probably explained why he didn't take kindly to anyone intruding in on the solitude, no matter who they were.  
  
"Harry?"  
  
Cracking an eye, Harry could see Professor Lupin peering in at him, concerned. And maybe a tiny part of him wondered what the man was doing here, and so maybe there was a tiny spark somewhere inside that hoped that the man had come out of concern for him. Not for the Boy Who Lived. Not for the tool of Voldemort's imminent destruction. Not for the boy in the prophecy or the old school mate's whelp. But just for him, Harry.  
  
He made sure to squelch the hope as hard as possible as he rolled over to face the back wall of the closet. He was going to go back to sleep so that he wouldn't have to think about it. He was going to just sleep until Professor Lupin went away, until the hateful thoughts swirling around in his head about Sirius vanished, and hopefully until he just wasted away and didn't have to deal with anything anymore.  
  
"Harry, are you sick?" The hand at his shoulder, pulling him back into the light wasn't so complacent though. And scowling up at his Professor, Harry shook off the shocked man's arm and tried to curl back up under the blanket in the corner. They'd left him alone up until now. They'd always left him alone, and assumed that he'd handle it on his own. Well, this was him handling it. And fuck them for thinking that now was the time to finally stick their noses in. Fourteen years ago, it might have been a different story. Hell, even last year, he might have welcomed what looked like an intervention. This time? Sorry, he wasn't interested. "What have they done to you?" The underlying anger in Professor Lupin's unnaturally calm voice almost amused him.  
  
"Nothing," he mumbled. Because it really depended on who was defined as "they". And since he was sure the good professor had meant the Dursleys, his answer was as honest as it was going to get. "I'm fine. Just a bit tired."  
  
"Get up, we're leaving."  
  
Yeah, the hell they were. "I'm fine, really. Just a late night last night." He shoved away Professor Lupin's hands as they gingerly went to grasp his upper arm.  
  
"Your Aunt and Uncle claim you haven't left this closet for the last three days." So? Who gave a fuck what they said?  
  
"I've just switched sleeping patterns. I'm nocturnal now. I wanted to now what it's like for Hedwig." He'd sent her off to Hogwarts the minute they'd arrived. He might deserve this punishment. And maybe he deserved the isolation and the three month banishment, but she didn't. She wasn't any safer here because of some stupid ass blood connection. Better that she had a chance to be in a place where she was accepted and taken care of and appreciated.  
  
"Look, we're leaving right now whether you want to go or not."  
  
Maybe it was the hard edge to Professor Lupin's voice that had him sitting up and glaring at the dark silhouette formed by the light shining in on his sanctuary. "Say what you like, I'm not moving a damn inch."  
  
"Harry, I just want to help." From Professor Lupin's voice, Harry imagined that there was a "strangle you" portion of the sentence that hadn't been spoken. He wasn't even sure why Professor Lupin cared. He didn't sound at all like he wanted to be here, happy to be taking Harry on, or upset that Harry didn't want to go with him. He had that same stance, the same tone of voice, the same old and tiresome resentment in his voice that Harry had heard day in and day out for ten years from his Aunt Petunia. Professor Lupin wanted him just about as bad as he probably wanted malaria.  
  
"Well, I appreciate your concern, and thanks for the offer, but I'm more than capable of handling it on my own," he offered up just as politely and distantly as Professor Lupin had done to so many members of the Order during those short times Harry had been at the house.  
  
"That's nice, but this isn't a democracy, I'm sad to say," the Professor mocked back, grabbing Harry's wrist once more and flipping something out of a small pouch in his other hand into the palm of Harry's. The sinking sensation in his stomach gave Harry just enough time to feel the glimmer of fear mixed with panic before the portkey whisked them both away.  
  
aaaaa  
  
::_Harry, quit being such a fucking brat. Remus can only take so much._::  
  
"Go away."  
  
::_Look, you have no idea how much persuading it took to get him to get you out of that place. The least you could do is be a little thankful._::  
  
"Hn. Thanks for nothing."  
  
::_You are jumping all over my last nerve._::  
  
"So leave me alone."  
  
::_ No, see, because I know that's what you want. You want us all to just go away and let you wallow._::  
  
"Leave me alone."  
  
::_I'm trying to make things right here. But I can't do that if you won't fucking cooperate with me. Give a little, for god's sake._::  
  
"Leave me the fuck alone, already!"  
  
::_Harry_::  
  
"Do whatever you want to me."  
  
::_It's not like that, kid._::  
  
"Yes, it is."  
  
aaaaa  
  
"Harry," Remus started out patiently as the kid looked ready to square off for another fight. He couldn't sneeze without getting a growl out of the boy.  
  
"I'm here, what else do you want?" Honestly? To shake the brat until he realized that Remus was not the bad guy in this. He hadn't wanted to do this. He hadn't wanted to take Harry on, and he hadn't wanted to deal the myriad of problems the boy had. It wasn't his fucking business, and no one had asked him to intercede. He was good at teaching the basics. He had the patience to help kids through their mistakes and learn from them.  
  
He hadn't the first clue how to lead Harry through the minefield of emotions that Sirius' death had caused. He hadn't even gotten over it himself, how could he be expected to help someone else through it? There were other people. More qualified people to be taking on this challenge and making things right.  
  
So why the fuck hadn't they stepped up? Why had it been necessary to force Harry back with those loathsome muggles? Why had it fallen to him to fix what was so obviously wrong?  
  
"Your cooperation might be nice." He kept his tones even if just to keep the brat from figuring out how much he was getting to Remus. Although, he had to say that it was a bit amusing that Harry thought he could match wills with him and win. He'd had over thirty years of experience at keeping himself contained and controlled. Greater, stronger and far angrier people had tried to test his resolve and had failed to shake him. A fifteen year old with a chip on his shoulder was petty change in comparison.  
  
"What's going to happen if I don't? You gonna drown me in the lake? Send me back to the Durselys? Force feed me to Voldemort?" Harry mechanically shoveled food into his mouth as Remus absently reminded himself not to gnash his teeth.  
  
"If that's what it takes."  
  
"Go for it," the kid had the audacity to shrug uncaringly. "Whatever makes you happy."  
  
"And what would make you happy?"  
  
For a moment, Harry's eyes met his and they were devoid of the constant hostility they'd had for the last three days. "Right now?" he asked, a smile on his face that was completely at odds with the despair in his eyes. "Not a damn thing." And with that, Harry abruptly got up, and went up the rickety ladder that led to the solitary bed on the second floor that was doubling as Harry's room.  
  
The cabin had been his parent's parting gift. They'd spent the last of their money to buy it, and in the hospital, his father had painstakingly written down the exact address and location of the cabin and it's surrounding waterfront property along the lake before casting a Fidelus charm that kept it firmly hidden from everyone's view after his death. He knew Harry didn't think he understood. And maybe, in some huge unforgivable way, he didn't. But Remus understood the closet.  
  
Because this cabin was his closet. And he'd spent many years in between James' death and his first year teaching at Hogwarts hiding here from the world, and at times, from himself. But this time, it wasn't about him, and he wasn't hiding for himself. It had been hell on earth managing to get the authorization for the portkey from the Americans, and he knew that when the Order members got the solitary owl informing them that he'd taken Harry on an extended vacation to some unknown part of the States to recover, there were going to be consequences. He'd be lucky if they even let him step foot back onto British soil when it was all said and done. He could all but kiss his tentative acceptance among them goodbye. They were never going to trust him again after this, and that was if they'd even trusted him beforehand.  
  
So fine. Fuck them. He scowled at his own cooling dinner sourly. This was all Sirius' fault.  
  
He squelched the thought as soon as it popped in his mind. Sirius was dead, and there wasn't any point in accusing the dead of past wrongs that they couldn't fix. Assigning the blame wasn't going to solve anything, it wasn't going to bring anyone back from the dead and it certainly wasn't going to change the consequences of the actions Remus had taken.  
  
And so maybe nothing in the world was going to make Harry happy right now. Maybe nothing could. But he was only fifteen. He would bounce back. Kids did that surprisingly well, and he would know.  
  
_"Leave me the fuck alone, already!"_  
  
Harry's voice was strained with both anger and unshed tears. Remus hadn't lived as long as he had, and been that far gone as many times as he had, without recognizing the pain the words couldn't accurately convey. Scrambling, he managed to make it up the ladder in time to see Harry burrow underneath the old white comforter Remus had loaned him.  
  
::_I fucked up but good this time._::  
  
The blanket was littered with short, black dog hairs.  
  
aaaaa


	2. Hammers and lakes

  
  
Although, I'm not sure this is much of an improvement. --;;  
  
Chapter 2

aaaaaa  
  
"You want me to fix the loo."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"It's a hole in the ground."  
  
"And that way, if you destroy anything, it's no big loss. I just want you to repair the steps. One of us is going to sprain something if we leave it like it is."  
  
"Why are you trying to make me do this?"  
  
"Chores are good for kids. Helps you build character."  
  
"Well, in that case, I've had enough character building to last a couple of centuries."  
  
"Here's a hammer."  
  
"You want me to fix three rotting boards with a hammer."  
  
"Do us both a favor and work off some of that aggression."  
  
aaaaaa  
  
It was obvious, Sirius decided, from the direction that Harry was taking, that the kid had no intention of going anywhere near the loo. Which, kudos to the kid, it didn't seem like a place Sirius would recommend going to unless it was a dire emergency. And actually, it was kind of enlightening in a way, because, for all intents and purposes, Harry had looked like he was going to sit complacently and fix the steps right up until the moment Remus disappeared into the house. In his experience, rebellion was only worthwhile if those you were rebelling against got the message loud and clear. Obviously, it meant something completely different to Harry.  
  
Trotting after the kid, tail wagging but feet never actually seeming to hit the ground, he followed Harry as he went down the hill from the cabin to the fairly rickety dock at the edge of the lake. ::_You know, Remus is going to be disappointed when he finds out that you just weaseled out of fixing the step._::   
  
Harry didn't answer. Instead, the kid's brow furrowed as he sat down on the end of the dock and stuck his feet, raggedy shoes and all, into what Sirius was sure was fairly freezing cold water. Sometimes his conversations with Harry went like this.  
  
Surprisingly, Remus talked back most of the time. Of course, Remus had assumed that he was like an imaginary friend or some random neurosis come to life, so that probably explained his closed mouthed old mate's chattiness of late. But Harry? To Harry he was always a dog, and no matter how much talking he did, or how weird it seemed to be to him to be talking in Animagus form, Harry never paid it all that much mind.  
  
Harry curled up against his fictitious body in sleep all the time, yes. As for actual speaking? Well, that was something that Sirius was beginning to suspect that Harry didn't do a lot of with anyone, living or dead. And to be honest, he didn't think he'd realized just how effectively the kid could stonewall until this had happened. Harry had never _not_ tried to tell him the important things. And while he'd known that he was someone special in Harry's life, he'd assumed that there had been other people, too. Other adults. Dumbledore. Remus. Shaklebolt. Tonks. Moody. Hell, he'd even settle for Mrs. Weasley who was just a notch above Snape on his list of favorite, happy people who were a part of the Order.  
  
Watching Harry in the last month had pretty much confirmed the conclusion. And god, of all the ways in the world that he would have wanted James' boy to take after his father and his godfather, this was not one of them.  
  
::_You know, maybe if you ask nicely, Remus will let you fix the dock instead. That way you can be cold and wet instead of dry and stinky._:: And that was not going to help the situation any, he knew. Harry only responded when the topics of discussion pushed past acceptable points. Only when Sirius managed to hit a nerve or strike a touchy subject did Harry ever add in his two cents. Sirius had sung him the most annoying song he knew of for two hours straight and all Harry had done was roll over and fall asleep to the sound of his voice. It was interesting, getting a taste of how Harry dealt with most other people he knew. ::_Are you just going to go through life pretending that I'm not dead?_:: He hated resorting to this.  
  
"Who's pretending?" Harry stared straight out across the lake, his grip tightening on the hammer.  
  
::_Oh, I don't know. You? Remus is only trying to help._::  
  
"And how can you be so sure of that?" Harry scowled, transferring the hammer to his left hand.  
  
::_Because he's a mate, and that's what mates do._:: At least in theory. He had never really been what he'd call a best mate. Not to James, not to Remus, not even to Harry. In fact, if he was truly honest about it, he was a nightmare to befriend. But that didn't mean that Harry had to share his fate.  
  
"He's not my mate," Harry said softly. "I'm his obligation. I'm everyone's obligation. A charity case, if you will. If you're looking for people that I personally depend on, I'm sorry to say that you've exhausted your last source." What in the hell was the kid talking about?  
  
::_Excuse me?_::  
  
"This is low, even for you," Harry snorted humorlessly. "Maybe I am only fifteen. Maybe I am just a stupid kid. And yet, I'm still a threat to you. It's incredible really. Can't you find someone your own age to pick on?"  
  
::_I'm confused. When exactly did I ever think you a threat, and why would I be picking on you? I mean, other than to get you to talk to Remus?_::  
  
"That's just it, isn't it, Tom?" Harry weighed the hammer in his hand, a frown on his face before pulling a wet leg out of the lake and propping it up awkwardly as he turned to the side on the dock, apparently contemplating the old, grey weathered wood it was made from. "Talk to Remus. Make more weaknesses. Hand them to you on a silver platter. You can't just take me head on; you have to find a middle man? Doesn't that strike you as pathetic?"  
  
::_Tom? What the hell, Harry. I am _not_ Tom Riddle._::  
  
"You know what, I don't even care," Harry growled. "Be whoever the fuck you want to be, but I'm done with this."  
  
Done with what exactly? Sirius cocked his head to the side, and watched as Harry placed his right hand down flat on a board and hefted the hammer up slightly before drawing back. For a second, Sirius was certain that Harry couldn't possibly be intending to do what it looked like the kid was doing, but a quick look at the kid's contorted face quickly changed that opinion. Panicked, Sirius tried the first thing that came to mind, which was stopping Harry's left hand from pounding the shit out of his right.  
  
His jaws clamped down, and for a second, nothing happened, and then Harry's left hand suspended in midair. They probably would have stayed frozen like that, if it hadn't been for the fact that shortly after, Sirius could taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. Harry's blood.  
  
Scooting back abruptly, he almost scooted right off the dock. He'd physically bitten Harry. He'd been able to just _bite_ Harry, and he could actually _see_ the teeth marks that were trickling blood down Harry's arm as the kid stared at it in complete shock.  
  
"Fuck," it was strangled in the back of Harry's throat, and Sirius watched anxiously, as Harry turned away from him, pulling his arm back and then flinging the hammer as far as he could into the lake. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!" Cradling his head in his hands, Harry sank back down to the dock, and as cautiously as possible, he inched closer. Leave it to him to screw up something that was already totally screwed up. Sirius was beginning to think he just had a knack for it.  
  
::_Look, I'm sorry._::  
  
"What do you care? You got your way." Sirius wasn't sure he followed the train of logic there, but okay.  
  
::_I never meant to make this worse. I, well, I guess I just wanted to make things right. It's all my fault that you're even here in this position._:: And really, this kind of confirmed what Sirius had always suspected about anything in his life. He had the poisonous touch. He could take anything, any person or situation, and completely ruin it by getting involved. He only ever caused those he loved unspeakable heartache. In protecting those that he cared the most about, he caused them the most damage. Even in death, he'd made things worse just by trying to help. Maybe a smarter person would have quit trying a long time ago.  
  
"Better here than anywhere else. It's all kind of the same after a while." Harry answered softly, pushing down the previously rolled up long sleeves of the red shirt he was wearing under a short sleeved shirt that very well might have fit Hagrid. How very Roman of the kid.  
  
::_That's not true. You could be with your friends right now, and Mrs. Weasley could be cramming biscuits down your throat and telling you that you're too young to know what those swear words mean._::  
  
"If you believe that I ever would have left Privet Drive at all this summer without Remus' intervention, then I'll have to admit that yeah, there's a definite possibility that you're not actually Tom," the humorless grin on Harry's face was almost creepy as the kid plopped his feet back in the water. "Because there is no way in any corner of hell that the He-Who-Is-Paranoid would ever be that naïve."  
  
aaaaaa  
  
::_Were they ever going to get him out of that, that _woman's_ house before the end of this summer?_::  
  
"They were discussing it."  
  
::_What the fucking hell is there to discuss?!_::  
  
"His safety for one. The safety of the Order for two. Look, I took him away from all that, and I did it with endangering as few people as I could manage. It doesn't matter what they might or might not have done."  
  
::_The hell it doesn't. It matters to him._::  
  
"He's fifteen. He'll get over it."  
  
::_No, he won't fucking "get over it", Moony. Wake the fuck up, already. You all essentially abandoned him. And that's after lying to him, I might add. How well did _you_ "get over it"?_::  
  
"We're not talking about me, and the circumstances are completely different. He's not trained in Occlumency. He doesn't know how to fight off Voldemort from the inside out. That's a lot to ask of anyone, let alone a half grown kid. We don't know if Voldemort can be privy to see what he sees or not. It's possible that as a safe house, Grimmauld Place has already been compromised. If Voldemort read Dumbledore's writing at the same time Harry did, or sifts it out of the kid's memories somehow, he could waltz right in there."  
  
::_You got him here._::  
  
"Yes, well, here is on another continent, and he never read the directions my father used for the Fidelus charm because I portkeyed him here."  
  
::_And the Order couldn't figure out how to do that in England? They couldn't figure out how to reach out to him at all?_::  
  
"Magic isn't an exact science. I'm not even sure we're truly out of Voldemort's grasp here. Maybe he can get past the Fidelus charm just by being able to see the place that's under the charm through Harry's eyes. There aren't exactly a lot of case studies of this type of situation to go off of, you know?"  
  
::_Do you care about the kid at all?_::  
  
"Yes! Maybe? I don't know. I barely know him. He's James' son, and just for that, I owe him whatever it is that I can do for him. Past that? Would he even care?"  
  
::_I think he probably cares more than he'll ever let on. Try to get to know him, for god's sake. He doesn't want to be someone's fucking obligation anymore than you ever wanted to be, moron. And hey, here's a novel idea, why don't you try it out right now?_::  
  
aaaaaa  
  
Remus didn't know what to think when Harry came drudging up the hill from the dock, shoulders drooped and hands shoved far down into jeans that were impossibly large on the kid's skinny, half grown frame. The loo was completely in the opposite direction on the other side of the cabin. And granted, he hadn't really been serious about Harry fixing the steps, but would it have killed the kid to have at least acted like maybe that's what he'd been doing instead of brooding?  
  
At the same time, was he just supposed to leave Harry to his own devices? He wasn't an expert or anything, but it just didn't seem right to leave a kid who was so, well, depressed for lack of a better word, by himself for too long. Remus already had too much on his plate to deal with. Having his best mate's child commit suicide on him was just not even going to be an option. Harry was just going to have to learn that the world in general sucked. Remus didn't have any other sage advice to offer or quick fixes in him to give.  
  
"Where's the hammer?" he asked as soon as Harry got close enough. The kid looked startled for a moment, before shrugging apathetically and looking away. "Did you lose it?" How the hell could he have lost the hammer? He'd only been out here on his own for the last fifteen minutes, twenty at the most. Had that been too long? He wasn't going to become the boy's shadow, for fuck's sake. Not only did Harry not need someone holding his hand through everything, he very obviously didn't want it.  
  
"I threw it in the lake."  
  
"You what?"  
  
"I threw it in the lake," this time Harry announced it defensively, and the rational part of him realized that it was probably in reaction to his own growl. But damn it, he'd had it. Get to know the kid? What had he been thinking? Harry wanted to get to know him better like the kid wanted to get to know the plague.  
  
"And you think they grow on trees around here? Look around you, Harry. Do you see a plethora of hammers?" A plethora of hammers? Who the fuck cared about the bleeding hammers? Why the hell had he given and angry, self-destructive, messed-up teenager a hammer in the first place? God, he was not cut out for making these sorts of decisions. Coach a third year through a particularly hard charm? Sure, no problem. Be a sympathetic ear for someone who needed to talk? Absolutely. Tread where he wasn't wanted? Give help unsolicited, force advice on someone who hadn't asked for it? Hell no.  
  
"It wanted to be free."  
  
Remus mentally counted to three and resisted the urge to strangle the smug grin right off the kid's face. "I'm not made of money."  
  
"Well, that would be your problem, now wouldn't it." Harry shrugged carelessly. As if he would let something as inane as this wind him up into losing his temper. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Remus plastered his most polite, most sadly-disappointed-by-the-actions-taken face. Two could play at this game.   
  
"I trusted you with the hammer," he intoned solemnly.  
  
"Trusted me," Harry returned flatly, apparently not buying into the act and not willing to play along. "You trusted me? Like hell you did. What, am I blind? You're not any different than any other person I've ever met in my entire life. Maybe I'm not old enough, or quick enough, or sane enough to be trusted. Maybe I have a psychotic madman living in my head and I can't be trusted to even know my own thoughts. But it doesn't matter anyway because you don't trust anyone. Not me, not the Order, and not Sirius. But you know what, it doesn't matter. Because I don't trust you. And I'm not stupid enough to think that you would ever trust me with anything."  
  
And he'd officially reached his limit for one day. End of discussion. They weren't going to talk about this anymore, and he didn't care if a thousand elephants sounding like Sirius trampled him to death over that fact. He shrugged and sighed, turning slightly and gesturing Harry, who looked a bit put out at his non-response, back into the cabin. The kid was sopping wet from the knees down. And while it was May, it wasn't exactly warm by any stretch of the imagination.  
  
Throwing a rather nasty glare in his direction, Harry plopped down on the first porch step to unlace his shoes, and that was when Remus saw the red smears over the knuckles of his left hand. "Are you bleeding?" How in the hell had the kid managed that? Fifteen fucking minutes alone. It almost boggled the mind.  
  
"What? No." Harry dismissed quickly, trying to wipe his hand discreetly on his jeans, and failing miserably.  
  
"So this isn't blood," Remus said, reaching over to pull back the sleeve of Harry's red shirt to reveal that it had rather nicely hidden what kind of looked like an animal bite of some sort. Most of it was probably surface scratches that had been just deep enough to break skin, but some of them looked like they could at least use some butterfly bandages.  
  
"Oh that," Harry attempted to pull the sleeve down and there was a minor tug of war before Harry finally gave in and let Remus examine farther. "Yeah, that's blood." And either this place had some incredibly violent and bloodthirsty squirrels or Harry had tangled with something a lot larger. Probably a stray cat or dog from the looks of it, and Remus' vote was weighted more towards dog.   
  
Sighing again, Remus let Harry get both shoes off before herding the kid up the stairs and into the fairly rustic cabin. "Let's take care of that, shall we?" Oh what fun would be had tonight trying to pry this story out of Harry. Remus could barely wait for the sharing to begin.  
  
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	3. Dog Bites

Obviously, I'm not British. I can't clean the American out of the dialogue that goes through my head. I try my best, but past that, I'm not going to have a kitten over it. If you are, feel free not to read.

Chapter 3

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Harry watched, irritated, as Professor Lupin bandaged the bite on his arm. The man didn't make as much fuss as Madame Pomfrey would have, but he did do a considerably lot more than Harry would have bothered with if he'd been left to tend to it himself. But then again, Harry couldn't really see why Professor Lupin just hadn't left him to it. Did he honestly look like he needed someone to kiss all his booboos and make them better? Please.  
  
"Some of these are pretty deep. You're lucky it was just the one bite." Professor Lupin gave him a small half grin, inviting Harry to laugh in chagrined humor at the whole thing. And that would have been fine, if Harry had found this even remotely funny.  
  
"Yeah," resentment swelled up in his chest, "I'm just a luck magnet." He winced as Professor Lupin disinfected some of the deeper cuts. The bloke was infinitely gentler than Aunt Petunia would have been. He'd learned at a very early age to not go to her crying about cuts, bruises or bites. But that didn't mean that he wanted the bloke to be patching him up or that he appreciated the concern. It was just a couple scratches. Nothing life threatening, and nothing he couldn't have handled on his own. The way Professor Lupin was carrying on, it was like he was next to helpless. If a Basilisk's fang hadn't done him in, he doubted a dog bite was going to kill him.  
  
Besides that, where had good old Professor Lupin been when he'd been five and Ripper had taken a chunk out of his calf to match the bruises Aunt Marge had given him on the shins? And where had the bloke been when he was ten and had scraped up the whole left side of his body trying to get down from the damned tree the thrice damned dog had chased him up? Where had anyone been all the times that he'd dabbed hydrogen peroxide over cuts given to him by Dudley, Piers and co.? Who had been there when he'd had the stomach flu, when he'd had strep throat, when he'd had the chicken pox?  
  
"Care to tell me how you got attacked?" Lupin asked companionably.  
  
"No." Well, ask a dumb question. Harry scowled as he looked away from the intensely disappointed look on Professor Lupin's face. Heaven forbid the Boy Who Lived be difficult. It was like watching a play unfold, in which he was the main character, except he didn't much feel like playing the part. They could find some other poor gullible twat to act out the role of obedient martyr for the greater good.  
  
"All right, let me rephrase that," Professor Lupin joked amiably, setting Harry's teeth on edge, "could you please tell me what happened?"  
  
"A dog bit me."  
  
"And?"  
  
"And what?"  
  
"Harry, you have to work with me. Did you provoke it?"  
  
::_No, he didn't provoke the damned dog. What the hell, Remus! He's an angry teenager, not an animal abuser._::  
  
Harry fought down a bubble of hysterical laughter. Oh, this was exactly why he didn't want to go into this right now, the principle of the matter aside. He was _not_ hearing Sirius' voice in his head.  
  
"Of course. Pissing off dogs is my favorite hobby." Just ask his Aunt Marge. According to her, he kicked puppies in his spare time. Given his bad blood, it was to be expected. She and Snape had that in common. Harry was the bad seed, the bad egg. He had a swelled head, thought himself better than his station in life, showed too little gratitude for all the offers he'd gotten from people wanting to give him an attitude adjustment.  
  
And in all honesty? He wasn't entirely certain that they were wrong. For all of Dumbledore's talk about choices making the man, it didn't seem that simple to Harry. Because, the way he figured it, he hadn't had much choice in having this connection with Voldemort. He had no control over what his father may or may not have been like or who the man's enemies or friends had been. It never really seemed to matter to the people intent on carrying a grudge or bent on repaying a debt that he was not actually his father.  
  
"I need details," Professor Lupin pestered, earning him another glare from Harry. _He_ needed details? Who the fuck was Lupin to be demanding details?  
  
Maybe it was petty and small of him, but fuck them, turnabout was fair play. "I needed to be told what was going on last summer. I needed people to be honest with me. I needed to know that Voldemort might be able to play peek-a-boo in my mind. I need to be left the fuck alone right now. Sometimes, we don't always get what we need."  
  
::_Harry, he's just trying to help._::  
  
Yes, but it was unwanted and unneeded help, and help that was offered for all the wrong reasons.  
  
"Look," Professor Lupin sighed tiredly, "I understand that you're frustrated. Both with me and with your situation. But I'm not doing this just to torture you. I have to know that you're healthy and safe. I have to know if there are things I need to be worried about or if there are things that are bothering you. I'm responsible for you as long as you're here."  
  
A responsibility. An unwanted obligation. Something to put up with on the expectation that putting up with it would eventually pay off in bigger ways later. He was a _person_ goddamn it. He was not some fucking transaction that needed to be handled. "You don't give a damn about me. You're just doing this out of some misguided sense of duty. And you know what, who asked you to butt in? Okay, cause fuck you! I don't need you." So maybe he wasn't a bloody genius at taking care of himself. But this was the way he'd been raised, this was the way he'd been taught to think and taught to react. If Professor Lupin didn't like it, then maybe he should have said something a long, long time ago. Because as far as Harry was concerned, it was much too late in the game to be playing the role of concerned caregiver now.  
  
"So you're just going to fight off the world all by yourself? How's that been working out?" Lupin asked quietly, and Harry rolled his eyes. Not as well as he'd like, but that was pretty much the way everything went. Better to shut everyone and everything out than to try and figure out how to sort through the myriad of lies and deceits to figure out what the truth really was. "Look, I know I'm being a pain in the ass, but I've got all the time in the world, and I can sit here all night with you if that's what it takes."  
  
::_He'll do it, too._::  
  
"Fine. Sirius bit me."  
  
aaaaaa  
  
"Sirius bit you?" Remus couldn't help but ask, certain he'd heard the little snot wrong. Unfortunately, Harry just nodded, a bored expression on his face as he pulled a leg up onto the blanket covered lawn chair he was sitting on that was doubling as furniture in the cabin. "Was it just a dog that looked like him?" He tried, trying to figure out how the hell Sirius' name might even fit into the picture.  
  
"No. It was Sirius. As in my deceased godfather," Harry stated calmly, before pulling his arm out of Remus' grasp in order to start picking at the bandages. Reaching over almost automatically, Remus smacked the hand before it could fully work off the first layer of tape. He spared Harry the scolding that he'd often received from his mother for the same offenses because he was sure that if he went into it now, the kid was going to pop his cork.  
  
"Enough of this, Harry. You have to tell me the truth." Because he'd really rather not have to strangle a willful fifteen-year-old.  
  
"What would you rather me tell you?" The kid squared off for another fight, and Remus bit back the groan that was working its way up his throat. "That I saw some dog when I was down at the dock, tried to hit it with the hammer, and it bit me in retaliation?"  
  
That all made sense; from the how Harry got the bite, to where the hammer had gotten to. Except, like the Sirius in his head had said, Harry wasn't an animal abuser. Even in the heat of the moment, Harry really didn't strike him as someone who lashed out at anyone without at least some kind of provocation. There had to be more to the story than that. "Is that the whole truth?"  
  
"I dunno, do you want it to be?" The kid smirked at him, and Remus mentally counted to ten as he shot the teenager a pained look. "Not much fun is it? Trying to figure out what to believe. Who to believe."  
  
"What really happened, Harry?" And okay, so maybe he could hear the hurt behind the kid's words. Maybe Harry did feel an overwhelming sense of betrayal from everyone who had ever bothered to look after him, from his lousy excuse of an Aunt to Dumbledore to Sirius to him. But Remus didn't have any soothing words to offer. That kind of betrayal never got easier to deal with and it never was something that ever truly went away. It was something that a bloke carried with him forever and took with him into every new relationship and every new acquaintance.  
  
"I was sitting on the dock, messing around with the hammer. Sirius was talking at me, and then he bit me." And they were back to this being about Sirius. Which, Remus supposed was probably at the root of everything. However, while Sirius chatted away with him in his head, it was more of a step in grieving. The idea that Harry was chatting with a fictitious Sirius and then getting very real wounds on his arm was more than a little worrying.  
  
"Does he," he fished for a second trying to find a delicate way to ask if this had happened more than once, "talk at you a lot?"  
  
"All the time," Harry returned flippantly, before visibly pulling in on himself. There was more to this than the kid was letting on. And just from Harry's stiff stance and defensiveness, Remus could tell that it scared him. "Now, if it's all right with your highness, I'm going to take my peasant ass upstairs and get some sleep." It wasn't even worth responding to the jab.  
  
"Fine," Remus decided spur of the moment, "but we're starting Occlumency lessons in the morning." Finally, familiar ground. Teaching Harry wouldn't be half as hard as simply trying to take care of him was turning out to be.  
  
"In your dreams, maybe," Harry muttered before climbing up the wood ladder to the second floor.  
  
Or maybe it was going to be just as difficult as everything else during this trip had been so far. Remus waited for the Sirius in his head to add in his two cents, but for once, the blabbermouth was uncharacteristically silent. But then again, the fucker probably would have gotten a kick out of watching Remus flounder so badly at something.  
  
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	4. Lessons gone awry

Chapter 4

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Sirius came awake slowly, aware of warmth at his back, sheets bunched up uncomfortably at his knees. There were a lot of things wrong with the scenario, but it was taking his head a lot longer than normal to work out what exactly those things might be.  
  
He didn't like beds. Not in human form.  
  
Twelve years of sleeping on the ground had put him off certain creature comforts. It was too easy to roll out of them in the midst of nightmares, of which he had plenty. They were almost always exclusively placed in the center of the room, exposed and elevated. Like padded altars, beds offered up human sacrifices to anyone with door opening capabilities. Given the gothic décor of his childhood bedroom, the image had taken root quite easily.  
  
The warmth at his back sighed in its sleep, and the hairs on the back of Sirius' neck prickled as they stood up straight on end. He didn't like people touching him, either. It was ironic considering the amount of time he'd spent fantasizing about something as simplistic as a hug during his time in prison. Maybe all those years of isolation had left him overly sensitive to the feel of someone else on his skin, he didn't know.  
  
Before his world had broken, he'd been careless with his affection. But in the fractured reality after his escape, fingers felt like an Inquisition. Hugs, a breach of security. Touches, little tendrils of hostility that probed for weaknesses.  
  
It was about the only bright point of being dead. Being able to touch without actually touching.  
  
"Sirius?" Remus' voice was slurred in sleepiness. A hand tightened around his chest and Sirius could feel Remus' forehead against the middle of his back.  
  
And then everything made sense again. Holy shit. Dead. He was _dead_.  
  
Remus' hand passed right through him and landed with a soft thud on the sheet below him.  
  
aaaaaa  
  
"So, I assume Professor Snape covered some of the basics with you?"  
  
"Basics?"  
  
"What to expect before I throw the spell at you? How to prepare yourself for the intrusion? What kinds of memories to expect and how to manipulate what I get? You did discuss meditation techniques with him, right?"  
  
"It was Snape. Not a Crumple-Horned Snorkack."  
  
"And what excatly does that mean?"  
  
"It means that he told me that it was a bit like resisting the Imperius Curse and then he threw _Legilimens_ at me."  
  
"He did what?"  
  
"If it makes you feel any better, he got really short with me too for getting angry at having my most private and embarassing moments relived and exposed. Apparently, I don't try hard enough. My being a lazy bastard brat and all. Oh, and have I mentioned that I'm painfully slow and stupid to boot? Your work's definitely cut out for you."  
  
aaaaaa  
  
Remus sat down heavily in the chair across from Harry, feeling more world weary than was probably strictly necessary. Best laid plans and all that. Not only had Snape managed to make the whole learning expereince a decidedly negative one for Harry, he'd also made it tripily hard for anyone attempting to teach the little snot after him.  
  
There were loads of things that Snape excelled at, and Remus would be the first to acknowledge them. The man was brilliant at potions. And he, for one, praised a higher being he wasn't entirely sure existed for every chance he had to take the Wolfsbane Potion, no matter how noxious the bloody thing tasted.  
  
Snape was also a genuis at Occulumency. How else could the bastard have been a spy for so many years? The man had saved countless people with his inside information, with great personal risk to himself. It was inside knowledge of Voldemort's plans that had even saved Remus' hide on a few rather memorable occasions. Remus was a bit awed by and envious of the man's sheer talent at keeping his mind safeguarded against intrusion.  
  
But teaching? Remus tunnelled a hand through his hair. The man was just not cut out for the profession. If everyone in the world had a weakness, Snape's was most definitely an extreme lack of patience, and on many occasions, a complete lack of compassion.  
  
"So," Harry started out, a sullen look plastered on his face, "I take it you're not just going to scream _Legilimens_ at me."  
  
No, he most certainly wasn't. Given what the brat had already experienced, it would be counterproductive. He wanted Harry to want to learn how to do this, and antagonizing the child with spells that immeadiately put him on the defence would not accomplish that at all.  
  
"I'm going to have you cast _Legilimens_ on me." A first time attempt at the spell couldn't be too strong, and Remus was certain he'd be able to direct the thread of the spell to a memory that wasn't particularly damning, even if he wasn't all that terribly skilled at Occulumency himself.  
  
"You're sure?" Harry shot him a covert look from across the table that clearly stated that the boy thought he'd lost his marbles. Who knew? Sitting in some cabin in the States, after having essentially kidnapped the Boy Who Lived because he'd gotten sick to death of the ongoing argument in his head about the boy's welfare probably qualified him for a padded wall or two. And that wasn't even going into his dreams or this morning's dream in particular.  
  
"Yes, just remember that when you cast the spell, you have control over what type of memories will surface." A simplified explanation, maybe, since there were thousands of types of memories to go with the thousands of different emotions and combinations of emotions. But for now, it would do. Give it some time to sink in, and the kid would piece it together himself. The boy was not stupid. Sullen, difficult, and angry, sure. But Harry could obviously accomplish great things when his mind was set to the task and when he was determined to master the subject at hand.  
  
"I can control the kinds of memories." Harry's eyes narrowed slightly in concentration and Remus attempted to clear his mind as the boy pulled out his wand. "Okay. One, two, three..._Legilimens_!"  
  
Remus braced himself for an attack, but it wasn't so much an attack that hit him as an overwhelming sense of curiostiy. His first meeting with James and James' attempt to stick a wet finger up his nose. The time he and the rest of the Marauders snuck into Lily's dorm under James' cloak and mooned all the girls present.  
  
James getting weak-kneed at learning that he was going to be a father at twenty. Feeling queasy and befuddled by James' insistance that they all be present for little Harry's first appearance in the world. Sirius turning his favorite dog-eared book into a burping rag for the baby.  
  
Arguing with Sirius over whether or not the Potters needed to be in on any of the Order business. Having a drag down, bitch all fight with James about the stupidity of remaining in England with a baby when a madman was out for his blood. Curt words with Lily over the wisdom of trusting blindly.  
  
Standing in his flat, paper in hand, learning that his friends were dead, that the world was in a tizzy because a baby hadn't died, and feeling utterly betrayed by everyone. The memory seemed to stick, and then skip like a broken record. Playing back the utter loss and desolation. The anger at having to discover that his world had fallen apart from a fucking paper. The ache of being so annoyingly alone, despite the fact that it was the way he'd thought he'd wanted things.  
  
"_Protego_!" He'd underestimated the boy, and he knew immeadiately that he should have known better. Stupid move, really. He'd put too much stock in his own abilities and put too little faith in Harry's willingness to give the spell a try.  
  
Hazy memories bounced back at him. Harry sitting alone in the corner of a school yard holding a dirty sock like a house-elf while wearing a party hat that surely had been pulled out of the bottom of a rubbish bin. Harry holding the crumbling, broken half of a rubber bouncy ball as he watched his cousin open Christmas presents. The boy wistfully watching kids playing a pick up game of football in a field, but never joining in.  
  
"Stop," he said quietly, reaching across to pull down Harry's wand as he put his own on the table. Harry didn't say a word as he stared back at Remus. "What did you see?" Because he wasn't under the impression that he was so well trained at this that Harry hadn't been able to see any of it. He'd most likely only gotten snatches of a memory here and there.  
  
And so maybe the question was double edged. Because Remus wasn't sure he wanted the child to recall any of what had flitted through his mind. His memories were private. Their pain was to be suffered in the quiet of his own solitude and they were never intended for anyone's mind other than his own.  
  
"My parents." Harry's voice was low, and even in the sunshine that was filtering through the open window, Harry's complexion looked a bit ashen.  
  
"What did you think about when I told you that you had control over the type of memories that would surface?" Because, after all, this was a lesson, no matter how much he botched it up. Although, he half suspected he already knew what Harry's answer would be. And it irked him. The kid could have just asked.  
  
"I wanted to find memories that you had of them." Harry pushed back in his chair, slumping his arms over his chest a bit defensively, and Remus watched the wary resentment that was becoming irritatingly familiar on the boy's face reappear. "You thought I was a mistake."  
  
"I thought the timing was bad," Remus tried clarifying, but Harry didn't seem to be buying it. And honestly? Remus wasn't going to argue the point to exhaustion with the kid. That wasn't the reason that they were sitting at this table, and it wasn't his place. Not to mention that they weren't Harry's memories and that the boy wasn't old enough to understand the kind of gravity the situation had held at the time. "Can you think of what the connection was between my last memory and the memories the Sheild Charm instigated in you?"  
  
"Yeah," Harry returned with a sneer. "I got too close for comfort and you got your revenge."  
  
Shooting the boy a pained glance, he bit back a sigh. "How did I extract it? What kinds of memories did you recall?" When the kid rolled his eyes, Remus gave up trying to get the answer out of him through that line of questioning. "What was the last memory you got out of my head about?"  
  
"The day you found out that my parents were dead and all that was left was me." There was bitterness in the kid's voice that Remus didn't know how to ease. Because, honestly? He had felt that way in all the confusion. Lily and James would never have died if it hadn't been for Harry. They never would have fit the prophecy, Voldemort never would have come after them, and he wouldn't have been left with nothing and no one when their world fell apart. "You hated that you'd been left alone." Remus shifted uncomfortably in his chair at the truth behind the words.  
  
"And how does that connect with the memories that the Sheild Charm brought forth?"  
  
"Loneliness," Harry finally spat out in absolute certainty. "You were lonely in that memory, and it brought out the lonely memories in me when you cast the spell."  
  
aaaaaa  
  
::_You know, I don't know that I ever thought about what you went through when all that happened._::  
  
"Why would you? You never were particularly perceptive when it came to me, and you had a hell of a lot of other shit to deal with at the time."  
  
::_Hey, I can be just as perceptive as you can, you two-faced prat._::  
  
"Oh please. I fancied you for years, and you never once picked up on any of the hints I dropped. Hell, Lily had it figured out by the third hint, and while it took James forever and I'm pretty convinced Lily helped him figure it out, he caught on eventually too. Even Peter knew what was up by the time we were neck deep in the Order. You were the one who never seemed to get it. Or, I don't know, maybe you did and you thought it was funny. Maybe you laughed at me behind my back about it. Maybe, just maybe, you're as two-faced as I am."  
  
::_You fancied me? How the bloody hell was I supposed to know that? My god, you paranoid git, there is subtlety and then there is total obscurity._::  
  
"Subtlety is, was, completely lost on you. Besides, it's not like it matters anyway. You're gone and it's a moot point."  
  
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End file.
